


Burning Bright

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [65]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Silly, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: The power's out, and Lance has to tell Arthur about a trip he doesn't want to take.





	Burning Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cathelms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathelms/gifts).



> This is set after 21 Guns and before Desperately Wanting in this same series. Arthur and Lance are in college, Guinevere is a Freshman, and Roland is pushing Lance to start learning the family business, which Arthur knows only enough about for it to be dangerous.

"How long has the power been out?"

Arthur looked up from his tightly hunched position on the couch, his eyes squinting past the flame of the five candles that were stinking up the small space that made up their living room. Lance wrinkled his nose; the combination of Autumn Spice, Pine Needle, Vanilla Bourbon, Clean Sheets and incongruously Chocolate Mousse (who’d given them that one?) wasn’t a pleasant one.

“That is really yucky sweet,” he added, his mouth turning down, his backpack and keys landing on the table with a thud, the keys jangling as they teetered at the edge and then hit the floor. Lance looked back, but shrugged and flopped next to Arthur’s crunched up form. "I hate Yankee Candle. Even if there's 'no paraffin or lead or fake scents!'" His voice rose several octaves; the girls that worked at that shop were certainly into the brand.

“A few hours,” Arthur answered. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and shot a breath out of his nose; it _was_ stinky sweet. “These are the only candles I could find. Sorry.” He laughed but made the same ick face that Lance did. “Where did the chocolate one come from?”

“No idea. But let’s throw that one out ASAP.” Lance kicked his feet up to rest on Arthur’s legs, and pulled another face at the sweat he could feel through Arthur’s thin pants. “Any info on how long it’ll be out?”

“Nope.” Arthur slammed the book he was reading shut unnecessarily hard. “I’ve called twice and they’ve not been the nicest about it. Suffice it to say it involved a line, a transformer, and a ‘drunk pelican.’ I don’t want to know.” He sniffed and lay back against the couch. “I am so damn sticky. And I stink.” He rested his forearm over his eyes and slumped lower against the microfiber furniture, which Lance was beginning to be sorry they’d bought.

Lance snorted and raised his head to narrow his gaze at Arthur. He rubbed his chest; his stomach had been destroyed lately, the acid burning behind his esophagus and near his heart, and it hurt like shit and he was tired and school was fucking killing him and his father – his father had been pushing him about something he didn’t want to do and the new car was scary and he really just wanted to drive his Thunderbird and be with Arthur, and not worry about his father and what he wanted Lance to do for him. Lance still had a year of school left, but Roland was insistent, and Guin was harassing him to let her hang around he and Arthur and Lance felt the burn of the fire in his chest and he rubbed at the spot over his heart again. And fuck, it was hot in here. And fuck his father for being the terrifying asshole he was.

The only good thing in all of this was Arthur. Arthur and his beautiful face and hands and body and his damn _soul_ (Lance wasn’t a believer, but he knew Arthur was) and it was just too much for him to be without the other man for days at a stretch. No matter what Roland wanted.

School was sucking the life from him too – and Roland and the business – Guinevere, her never ending jealousy – Arthur’s family history and the fact that Lance was pretty sure Arthur wouldn’t put up with him and his inanities forever –

“What’s wrong?”

Lance twitched his eyes to Arthur’s sweaty face, and sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. He wiped the moisture from Arthur’s forehead and neck and tried to smile as the other man eyed him through the stinky candlelit gloom.

“Lance,” he continued. Lance wrapped the now damp shirt around Arthur’s neck and used it to pull Arthur toward him.

“What else can we do in the dark?” he whispered, ignoring Arthur’s question as he tugged the other man closer. Arthur put his hands on the pillow behind Lance’s head and stopped his forward motion.

“Lance.”

Lance sighed. The candles flickered and he sneezed unexpectedly and Arthur jerked away from him, standing up and resting his hands on his hips. The wind blew outside and they could suddenly hear men shouting and the sounds of what might be a heavy-duty truck, hopefully the electric company. 

The small wind chimes they had on their porch chimed sweetly, the opposite of the awful scented candles, and Lance shook his head and sat up. “Nothing. My stomach hurts. School’s out of control, and my dad wants me to go on a trip out of the country for him.”

He bit his lip; he hadn’t meant to say it. Roland hadn’t been super insistent until a few days ago, and Lance figured he didn’t have any way to get out of it now. He didn’t want to leave. Not right now, not when they were relatively _new_ and fuck, but his belly ached.

“How long have you known?”

Arthur sounded hurt. Lance dared to meet his gaze, but Arthur was just watching him in the smoky dark, his expression the same as it had been. Maybe – maybe he’d be okay with Lance doing this. Even though he knew – mostly – what Lance’s father did _really_ and what Lance would likely be doing in Italy for his family’s business affairs.

“He’s been asking for a few weeks. I’ve been trying to put him off, especially because classes have been so intense, but I don’t think I can any more.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You know why, right? You know what he does?”

It wasn’t really a question. The candles flickered in the hot air and the wind chimes dinged and the men outside shouted back and forth and Arthur was quiet and finally Lance looked up at him. He felt sweat slide down his bare back and into the waistband of his shorts. His hair was damp and he realized he really needed it cut, but Arthur had mentioned once in passing he liked the curly, so.

Their eyes met. Lance had never discussed this with Arthur so blatantly. His gut roiled and made a weird noise and he covered it with his hand, reminding himself mentally to get some sort of medicine as soon as he could, and to try and talk his father into putting off the trip one or two more weeks. He couldn’t believe he’d just spit it out like that.

“Yeah.” Arthur still watched him as he answered finally. “I do.”

He sat next to Lance on the couch and rolled his lips inward, a gesture he used when worried or sad or thinking way too hard. Lance raised a hand and touched Arthur’s cheek softly, and then the edge of his lips that were thin and almost invisible. The sweat was unbearable but Lance didn’t want to leave Arthur’s side, especially when he was being too fucking honest for his own good.

_Stop, now. Don’t tell him anything else._

_He’ll leave._

“When?”

“He wanted me to go next week, but I’m trying to get him to wait till the beginning of next month. It’s too soon,” Lance spit out. He slumped and sweated and breathed in the disgusting sickly sweet smell of fake perfumed wax. “Not yet. It hasn’t been long enough.” He bit his lip again and looked up when Arthur touched his damp lower back. The other man smiled, but Lance could see the reflected pain and – longing? God, he hoped so – that made the green of his eyes so bright.

“We wasted some time,” Arthur said quietly. Lance watched him, still biting his lip, and then finally nodding. “Yeah.”

“I don’t want you to go, either.”

Lance figured it was probably for the reason that Arthur knew enough about Roland’s business (Uther’s specter hung over Arthur and more times than not Lance too) and hated that his son was still involved in it. Lance _hoped_ it was because maybe, maybe Arthur might just love him a bit, and he carried that hope in his head every day and had since the moment they’d met, really.

Lance cupped Arthur’s hot face with his equally warm hand, and went for silly, if only to protect himself and his abiding and fucking dangerous love for Arthur.

“I’m sure you’ll be super busy, Arthur. You’re popular still; come on, with this face.” He laughed but it didn’t translate to his eyes and Arthur shook his head in Lance’s grasp.

“You have no idea, do you?” he murmured and leaned in, his breath soft and there was peppermint and some remnants of coffee and Carmex and Lance’s lids fluttered closed as Arthur’s mouth touched his lightly, the other man’s hands sliding from Lance’s shoulders to his hands, gripping tightly, possessively.

The lights clicked on and the AC whooshed to life and Lance pulled back from Arthur’s touch, the brightness and unreality of the sudden light a jarring, sharp break between them.

Arthur opened his eyes and they were muzzy green, and he stood and crossed to the door and opened it, sticking his head out. The trucks were leaving and the shouting faded away, and the hum of power invaded and provided the things they were used to.

Even if they were things that Lance suddenly didn’t want. 

He missed the dark, and the quiet – 

Arthur turned and came back to the couch, and bent over and blew out the horrid, disgusting candles. He picked them up, took them to the trash, and unceremoniously dumped them inside. He dusted his hands off, walked back to where Lance was still sitting, and stuck his hand out. His face was slightly pink, but with the AC on, it was losing its heat and Lance’s shirt was still around his neck.

“You have no idea,” he said again, and raised Lance to his feet.

They went to Arthur’s tiny bedroom, where it was still somewhat warm and Arthur didn’t turn the lights on and Lance was reminded why he believed in his deepest, most secret heart of hearts that Arthur might have a reason to love him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to my BFF. Love you. I know this fandom isn't in the forefront of anyone's minds anymore, but I wanted to do something that you always supported me on and this came to mind (and honestly, I haven't written anything in a while and it was so great to do it) and I thank you for always reading my work.
> 
> Arthur and Lance also say Happy Birthday and they love you too. :) <3
> 
> Live By The Sword, for anyone new to the AU, got started a long time ago for a one shot challenge prompt that went something like, "Given no choice, would two knights (from 2004 King Arthur) actually fight to the death?" I wrote a one shot and liked it and never stopped. My writing for the first few years is pretty jerky and uneven and full of cliches and I have to hope it sounds better as the writing goes along. Thanks to anyone who's ever read this series and who will read it. xoxo


End file.
